


The End of the Beginning

by Abhorable



Series: Time [3]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gore, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, Other, Violence, god i just want a fucking hug, it's real lizard hours, man it's late forhonor just came out for free, michael who, opossum named yogurt, possum named yogurt, really bad depiction of light insomnia, yogurt the opossum - Freeform, yogurt the possum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:44:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abhorable/pseuds/Abhorable
Summary: The cold sting of silver against a night out, he's gone. Or is he?





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> hey it's me im back  
> my last draft got deleted because I wasnt writing this is fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick catch-up.

On that February morning, I was petrified.

Valentines day around the corner. Normal, whatever, early twenties' terror. 

But in reality, what everyone in my family had decided ultimately was my severe loneliness and isolation complex, was something far deeper.  
Perhaps four months had gone by with me withering away in a hospital, on recent release. 

I suppose outside viewers would find the scene a bit unsettling to hear about.

"Idiot teenager goes to find Mass Murderer: Gets Stabbed; Big Shock" on the newest issue of a crumpled and wilting newspaper left to the streets. Its stupid inky words dripping off onto the pavement months after its relevance has faded into nothingness.

And for the sixth day in a row, I lied awake in my bed at four in the morning. Petrified.

My hands were glued to my chest, a pharaoh's hands holding their sacred tools across my form as I attempted some meek form of slumber. I couldn't remove them in my exhausted state, so I opted just for lying in solidarity.   
Without any activity other than trying to pry the superglued eyelids from the tops of my sockets.

I simply couldn't sleep knowing there hadn't been a singular sign of Michael since I had seen him.   
He vanished. The bodies of his several victims, all of which I'd been asked to attempt to identify at the time, had all been dumped off in random dumpsters across the entire city and even one left on a highway miles from Haddonfield.

The name didn't make me shudder, anything of the like. 

It felt natural to say and accept. Like hell. It was, in theory, just a place. What's so absolutely terrifying about a location, anyways? Not all that big a deal. The place isn't scary. If I knew Michael was still lurking around, I would've fucked off.  
But here I am. Less than a ten minute walk from the main streets. 

Super back alley cheap apartment complex, but hell if it wasn't nice. I kept my things nice. By not having anything.  
Simply a nice bed, a few heavy comforters and whatever pots and pans my parents insisted I would get when they got their new set.

Kitchenware in shining silver, I was completely just set to live.  
In my little terror home, with an aching scar right between my ribs. At all times. Completely trusted alone. 

And that brought another little inkling of thought.  
How much I wanted to leave the mortal plane all behind, and just cease to exist all together. Let it all fade into a static background and become something better. But what if I didn't? What if I entered the static plane and left anything coherent?  
That was what I feared. And more.

There were plenty of other "reasons" as well.  
Like how my family's medical bills stacked on for miles and miles, just because of my little trip. I'd cost them a great deal. I knew my aunts and uncles secretly resented me around the holidays because I prevented my parents from getting anything too over the top for their already wealthy families.   
My family really weren't the wealthiest people compared to their siblings.  
I worried their funds would run dry if I kept taking gallons from their pool.

Maybe, just maybe if I was younger I would have the nerve to self-harm too.   
It wasn't immature to do so, by any means. But I had lost even the slightest motivation or popular need to do so. I just didn't see it necessary when I was barely working the nightshift at a cheap gas station, all on my own. I had some brief things to keep going for.

Like Yogurt, the Opossum that lives in the dumpster and loves reheated chicken skin with Spam.

Yogurt made so much sense in this little world I'd made up for myself after my injury. So much so, that when Joseph, another employee, was on shift with me, and screamed, I had little to no reaction when he brought up Yogurt casually awaiting their garbage dinner a top the dumpster playhouse.

Joseph seemed to fit in well, too.

Joseph was the most boring man I had ever met. And apparently, he thought me the moon and stars with every gasping breath of the sun above whenever he saw me.   
Mouth always left very slightly agape, wide eyes as he'd see me in a large hoodie with pizza grease slathered across the front and sweatpants. 

Supposedly he was only going to be working nightshift for a week, but as the days dragged on, it was made very clear to me that Joseph wanted to be around on every nightshift I was.  
I could hardly avoid the guy, but I mean hey, if the man wants to worship a sloppy mess of hyper insomnia and whatever else I picked up from the Myer's house, let him. Not like it affects me in any way.   
I'm not interested in the dude either way.

With his wiry build, he often tries to assert some form of dominance over me. A twig without hardly any muscles, and just barely over 5'3. Compared to a certain 6'10 leviathan I used to hang around, Joseph's tiny.

I'd returned from the shift just fifteen minutes ago, and all in an attempt to escape Joseph's inquiries about my life all night long. He absolutely loved sticking his neck where it didn't belong. But only in my life.   
Our collective Graveshift manager wanted to oversee work one night, just to see what was going on. Whatever. Rachel was cool and I would be damned if she didn't belong with us.   
But Joseph didn't have that same birdlike, dumbfounded expression whenever he spoke to her. And he didn't ask her an onslaught of questions about what movies she'd seen recently, whereas with me, even though I'd already told him I only had my phone and no other technology in my life, he heavily expected me to keep up with the media.. 

Joseph bothered me, but not enough to do anything about. He wasn't harassing me, and as in with the leviathan metaphor, I'd dealt with much worse.   
But maybe I'd crack in confrontation. Who knew, really? I sure as fuck didn't. I had the police on speed-dial. I could call them, they usually love and appreciate me getting into situations so they become martyrs. 

And now I'd likely spent another ten minutes thinking about my life.

And sleep is now no longer important. 

Let's do that again.

It wasn't like the terror of those few nights seeped into my every day life. 

Very rarely did I look out from the gas station dumpster and think, "huh, wow, that tree over there sure looks like a person". I was cautious, sure, but nothing supported anything I did. None of my shit went missing. No shadows, no lurking presence. 

And Michael was most likely gone from my life all together. He probably had no idea I was still around, if not alive.   
I rammed my chest onto the blade and just let it sit there. Until I, like a logical human being, decided to dip right the fuck out of there and put some pressure on my side until I collapsed into a bleeding mess on the sidewalk. 

That didn't bother me at all. 

What bothered me now was an onslaught of medical bills and heavy mental issues, most of which went undiagnosed, as again, I wanted to avoid medical bills.  
Therapy is a wonderful tool for those who use it, but I don't have the money or the need. 

Not when I still know he's out there.

I'd never fallen into Strode family territory with my paranoia, but a quick shuffle of the covers and glance to my phone reveals it's roughly 4:47 AM.  
And almost an hour has gone into thinking about him, or things caused by him every night.

What would I even do if I saw Michael again? Would he try to finish the job?  
Did I want to?

I felt like I was wrapped up in a shitty high school-style drama with absolutely nothing to show for it. I was stabbed, being creeped on, and just trying to live the cheapest life possible.  
With an Opossum I recently stuck a collar on to claim as my own. 

Yogurt was labeled as mine, my only solstice to the nightmare I'd precariously woven myself into.

And for an opossum, they really were very nice. 

So maybe I can sleep on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy it's me
> 
> i'm still dying  
> going to a reptile expo and a friend's tomorrow, wanted to post this before then so   
> this will be listed as going up on the 9th so i'll be going to a reptile expo today  
> gotta uhhhh see chinchillas  
> I can send pics for those interested but that needs to wait a hot minute before it happens y'know  
> anyways  
> things are getting better and i'm lovin life


	2. Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines day.

I had vague collection of exactly what was happening.

My hand on my right side, fingers practically digging into the skin as a blur of red dripped from the open wound.  
And I was running. I was running through the thick forest. A mass of lumbering trees overtook me. And for a split second, I was concerned as to what I was running  _from_.

A familiar powerwalking figure, a sense of dread filled me. I was running on pure adrenaline alone, and he was pursuing heavily. I had to keep running, to keep what was left of my feeble form afloat.  
To avoid inevitable death.

I ran for what seemed like ages, only to feel a steel-toe boot collide with the back of one of my knees.  
And I slipped forwards, onto the metal scrap and pine-needle forest floor.

The oak trees above sealed my fate as I saw the porcelain mask enter my field of view. He loomed over me. 

And another stabbing pain to the stomach.

I flung myself backwards into the wall behind my bed. Sweat drenched my covers, and my fingernails were dug into the flesh all around my large, whitened scar. I could feel empty tears going down my face as I let out a quick, yet whimpering huff.   
At least I was okay. No need to get too overly worked up about a nightmare. 

Glancing over to the clock set idly on the floor, it was almost two in the afternoon. Pulling myself up and over the bed, throwing myself out of the covers. I pulled about a third of the blinds on the window open for light; just enough to reach down into the laundry basket I called a wardrobe, and throw on some loose t-shirt and pajama pants, and the soaked shirt tossed into the laundry basket on the other side of the bed.   
Whatever, cool, I'm doing fine.

Beginning my morning with that was nice, I trudged over to the tiny kitchen portion of my apartment and slapped my hand onto the fridge door's handle, and grabbed a cup of strawberry yogurt with the other. Pulling the foil lid off, I folded it into a very makeshift spoon and got to work on my breakfast.  
Headed back to my bed, I sat down and ate. It wasn't like I had any plans today. Maybe go out and buy a little more food while making sure I made my monthly rent before doing anything crazy. 

So when I heard a heavy knock on the door, I was convinced it was my landlord for just that. Whatever, I had the cash for this month.

Heading up to the door and opening it, only to be met with someone I had to look down to see. There he was in his curly, redheaded glory.   
Joseph.   
I cracked my fake "hey how's it going smile" and stared at him for a minute. 

"You gonna let me in or what," He stared at me, blankly at first, but soon with the bug-eyed pleading I was more accustomed to. 

Right before I was about to say no, another question threw itself into my mind.

"How the fuck did you get my address," You little shit. You absolute buffoon. You thought you could waltz into my domain without warning or welcome. Well, you're sorely mistaken, Joseph. I had to keep calm. 

I crossed my arms and stood my ground in front of the door. 

"You texted it to me." He said, deadpanned. Now, there's many things about Joseph I don't like. And one of them is his pressing demeanor whenever he says something, as if it deserves the utmost attention. He didn't say things deadpanned unless he was lying. I'd play along for a moment. Plus, he sure as fuck didn't have my phone number. That was reserved for Managers, Police, and family. 

"Then why did you even come over," He shuffled his hands in his winter coat pockets. "You didn't exactly announce yourself and all."

"Well, it's the afternoon. It's usually okay."

"Joseph, I work the nightshift. _You_ work the nightshift. You've never been over, and I don't remember inviting you."

"So can I come in now?" At this point he was trying to stare over me, into my apartment.

I sighed. He wasn't going away. My usual tactics of being uninterested were working less than usual. I moved to one side of the door. "For the love of god, don't break anything."

Not that there was anything to break.

Joseph seemed, within the instant he entered, no longer interested in where I lived. I was glad he was unimpressed, but more upset he wouldn't leave. He pulled out his phone with a quiet, "Hold on, I gotta show you this video."

Pulling up some anime clip on his phone, it seemed that this is what he wanted to do for a long time. He slid up to me, sitting on my bed, where I begrudgingly joined him, at least a good few feet away from him.

I just barely recognized the emo guy in the frame as Sasuke and the other twat as Naruto. I wasn't that interested in them screaming each other's name at one another atop some stone pillars or whatever while glowing. 

He already was encroaching on my space just by being here. Let alone the fact that he was slowly pulling himself towards me, while I tried to inch away.   
It got to the point where he was stuffing Naruto down my throat, while clearly being more interested in being close to me.

I shouldn't have let him in. This spoiled my plans of going outside and into public. Today, with a dream like that, I just wasn't in any sort of mood to deal with Joseph, even if it was at work. 

When he put his hand on my thigh, I decided I thoroughly had enough. 

"Hey." I stared at him, furrowing my brow.

"Hey what?" He responded.

"Move your hand. Please." I nodded to it, less convinced it was supposed to be on the bed but rather on my thigh.

"And what if I don't?" 

"Then I'll move it myself."

"Getting demanding are we?" He smiled.

"Move your hand, Joseph."

He changed into a quick frown. "You're not even giving me a damn chance."

"A chance for what?"

"You! I came over here, to talk to you. I went to that weird trash mammal you call a pet and found your address, just to talk to you."

Okay. Wow fuck. Demanding yourself, much.

"Maybe you should have considered me not talking to you as a good sign as to, I don't know, not find my address to explicitly talk to me."

He stood up, starting to look a bit more threatening in the sense that he no longer wore that birdlike expression. I'd get out of this calmly, no if's ands or buts. 

"I've been trying so hard to talk to you, and you just shut me down. What the hell." He started grumbling, so I rose to have some sort of power against him.

He started yelling, at first just little quips about how much he was trying to get me to like him. To fall in love with him so things could be "right". Just a slurry of stupid shit, which ended with him backing me into the kitchen as to stay far away from him. 

"You don't even know me, Joseph! We're coworkers, not lovers!" I was trying not to yell, but it was getting harder and harder when he was practically screeching.

"I thought we had something, you just bitch and bitch at me whenever I try and talk to you, or even try to kindle any sort of friendship!" He was getting red in the face, starting to tear up. 

He was getting madder, and I was running out of ground until the door. 

"Joseph, you need to leave, I'm not dealing with this."

"I'm not leaving. I've been nothing but nice to you and you need to swallow your pride and just talk to me. I know you think you're better than me, just because you're beautiful."

I was baffled, and he was starting to push me into the cabinets. I was really fucked unless I managed to diffuse this.

"Just talk to me like an adult, fuck!"

I decided going quiet and subservient was a wonderful option, and he just kept screaming, asking me friendly and some less friendly questions.

When it came to how I constantly called the police, he started calling me some sort of special snowflake.  
I didn't know what to do.  
Everything was getting slow and gray, and I just couldn't stand there and take it in good conscious. 

The knife block was right there.

I wasn't thinking straight.

Grabbing the largest butcher knife I saw, his eyes went wider than I've ever seen as I threw it in between his ribs. And I kept going.   
I dragged it through the gap, and stabbed again.

It didn't feel right to put a blade through live flesh.

It was to the point where he gargled blood and collapsed to the floor. Sputtering blood onto the tile flooring, grasping and clawing at my legs until a sudden stop. 

His corpse laid splayed out on the flooring. Reaching for something he couldn't have because he forced himself to try too hard. 

And I stood above him. A grim invader. Hands soaked in the red that once coursed through his veins. An object of affection all together while being the exact reason for his demise. 

What a peacekeeper I was.

I've got plans for the night, though, so that's good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gang would you look at that it's valentines day already  
> i was supposed to finish ch 3 by today but i've been busier than i expected  
> and by that i mean no i'm not busy i just haven't found a solid day where i can sit down and write and my laptop isn't dead  
> it sucks 
> 
> this chapter is p ok I think?   
> i'm getting more excited just to start working on passion projects tbh  
> i've had a couple quips of some ideas for a little hospital fic, but that's mostly because I've not really liked any of the others that are put out  
> not that they're bad, but that there's this trope that everyone doesn't know who michael is and that they think they can change him  
> and a huge deal of it is starsinthesnow inspired, which is cool and litty, but kind of dull after a while   
> so uhhhh i dunno maybe   
> i think i might try my hand at a jason fic too
> 
> either way updates have been slow because life stuff and i just wanna keep this one on a schedule.   
> have a day


	3. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not getting this out sooner

The familiar sensation of slightly worn fabric dragged across my face as I pulled the gray hoodie over my eyes.  
Slightly smelling of rust, it was disturbing to be wearing the same article of clothing again. The same hoodie that had brought me through most of my years of high school, and the same hoodie that accompanied me on my roundabout to the Myers home.

And oh boy, I'd be a fool to go anywhere else. 

Hours of cleanup had gone into making sure my apartment was absolutely squeakyy with two y's clean. I went out and bought an entire bag of plastic gloves just for this, after all.

The body was long gone. I managed to squeeze around life, wrapping it in my full size comforter, making sure that I ripped up the edges to make it look worn enough to toss into the full size dumpsters out back.   
It was out of my hands, and I'd gone straight into bleaching all of my floors. I disinfected every surface I knew he touched. No fingerprints. 

I called Rachel and put in two vacation days, apologized for such short notice and said it was on family emergency. Too vague, and just sad enough that she wished me luck in whatever was going on.   
I was a full fledged killer. I'd seen all the shitty textposts, and there was no way I'd ever be caught. Of course, not because of the textposts, but because I planned on being dead by the end of the night. 

People didn't usually go on vacations unless they were out of state, especially if a little accident happened. 

But it wouldn't really be a vacation, now would it? 

I'd dug out an old backpack my mother had given me for high school, stuffed it full of my bedsheets and a box of granola and nutrition bars, and decided that I'd be on my way very shortly.  
I scanned for fingerprints across every surface just one last time, and did a sweep of the floor again. 

Nightfall was a peculiar thing in winter.  
I'd noticed it was always freezing, sure not as much as the small suburb my family lived in when I was younger, but it was still cold. And each day rarely seemed like it was getting any longer, even after the solstice. 

Each aching breath brought attention to each individual glimmer of a snowflake, taunting me with its stupid frozen crystalline looks, yet remaining inedible. Snow was infuriating to young children, the elderly trying to exit their cars, and now a 20-something college dropout.

Then- nothing.

No feelings at all. A monotonous drone of what I needed to do in order to thoroughly escape. Everything all nice and compound, thrown into my backpack.

The emptiness swirled in my stomach, mouth dry like I'd been drinking all night with the false warmth brewing in my stomach as I examined the little cuts and bruises on my fingertips for a solid twenty minutes while disassociating.  
But most importantly, I was running out of time. 

There was only so long until the body would be discovered.

I grabbed the last of my belongings in that backpack, and I walked out the front door. Headed down the stairs, to the main desk, plopped my keys on the counter without a word, and left. 

It was only a ten minute walk from the house, after all. So close to imminent danger.

I hardly recall the walk of anything more than me trying not to just break down on the pavement and snow. 

It was a horrid blur before I was back on the porch-step of the disintegrating house, if you could even call it a house at that point.   
Trudging through the gray and white slop in the yard, I made my way to the kitchen's unboarded window. I tossed my stuff down inside the sink, threw myself in, and took a quick look around.

Vague remnants of caution tape, all strewn up on the walls along with some sort of- sick shrine in the main living room.  
I had no real words trying to clamor out of my throat as I stared upon the 20-30 animals, each with their rotten skin crackling around their poor little stomachs, each thrown and pinned up to the wall. A collection of masks are hung up around them, not painted but rather draped in a good amount of very colorful fabric. Presumably the clothes of his victims.

The odor was just as malodorously pungent as the last time I was here.

Vomit and blood, in copious amounts around the entire house. 

Aside from the beautiful art gallery, almost nothing had genuinely changed about the house. 

Still the same disgusting, rotting floorboards.

Though I wasn't instantaneously freezing when I opened up the window, which I now realized was still open. Upon closing it, not much noise came from it. And upon closer inspection, it and all the windows were nice and soundproof-style padded. Michael's still living here or..something.

It dawns on me, hey, you might not be alone fuckwad. 

Fucking dumbass, go check out the house. 

A quick sweep leads me to the last room I'd been in before he'd found me the first time. My vomit still stayed crusted on the floor, looking as great as it did when my stomach decided it was no longer needed.

I don't care anymore.

A wave of indescribable gentleness washed over me as I cracked open that door, eyes peering in with utmost anticipation.   
I was expecting nothing, perhaps some garbage strewn about. But there was the full Michael, asleep on the floor in the same worker's uniform. Mask flopped unceremoniously to his right side, the latex folded over itself as locks of dirty blond, real hair lay about on his shoulders.

I nearly took a step back, only restraining myself so I didn't wake the beast in his den. 

His chest rose and fell, deep breaths filling his lungs.

How this man wasn't freezing to death, I really doubted I'd ever know. 

I forgot why I was here, just opting to exist in this space rather than act on anything.   
My mind drew blank. I forgot how much I needed my eye sockets to be emptied and gouged, my temples the same. How much I needed to spurt a stream of vomit from my nose, my mouth clamped shut on my tongue which would writhe on the ground. Blood gushing into my mouth, the puke mixing and tasting more foul than anything I could imagine. 

My breath hitched as I stared. Michael refused to stir, some kind of heavy sleeper, or he realized I'd been here.

Predator had become prey. If I managed to sneak up behind him I could kill him and end the Myers legacy. It would be that simple to stab through his lungs and gut him like a fish, tearing at his ribs and pulling them apart from one another, a blood eagle performed in the small suburban home. 

Or I'd die trying to execute him.

I liked both options. Be revered as a social hero and be uncharged for slaughter, try to get myself nice and fixed up again. Or I'd be killed gruesomely and just be another trophy on the wall.   
Win win. 

My focus returned to Michael on the floor, I watched him rise, facing away from me as that mask was thrown back on. It was then that he turned to face me.

And he froze, hands mid movement to push himself from the ground to leave and do whatever a Michael does. 

I could feel those eyes on me, and I stood in the doorway, feeling the unsure confusion in the room.

The tension was thick enough to cut, and the two of us had knives, so it wouldn't be too hard.

It took a minute of dead silence, but this full grown monster of a man came bolting at me, though not before I managed to turn heel. The terror in that instant was equivalent to being charged at by a mastiff, only this time with a knife and full intent of killing. Brute strength alone could be the end of me.  
Not fast enough to avoid being pinned against the wall by the knife-wielding behemoth.

His breath was hot against my face as I stared up into the headlights, doe eyes wide, mind drawing blank.

"You gonna stab me now or what," was all I could muster, trying to keep laughter down in my throat.

I was met with no response, nothing out of the ordinary, at least for what I remembered. Repressing as much as possible was pretty easily disregarded the moment I even stepped foot inside the house, though. 

He grabbed me by my wrist, pulling me along with him, keeping his grip light. As to keep it that way, I followed him. 

Down those simple steps, as he lead me to his "wall of excellence", the proud display of corpses along the wall. He stares up at them, cracks his neck around to me and expects a response.  
At least I think he does?

"I saw when I came in," I pause, staring them down. Restraining the urge to vomit, stuttering out a quiet, "They're...nice."

His hands drape off my wrist, and I finally get a better look at Michael. 

Covered in blood from head to toe, splotches all around his body, an amount of salt staining on his legs and boots. Kinda terrifying, again.

"You gonna stab me now, or-"

His gaze returns to me.

We stare at each other for a few minutes.

"Okay cool." It takes me a hot second, but I finally remember why I'm here. To kill or be killed, kinda. "You know how to dispose of bodies really well right?"

A slight tilt of the head.

"How would a blanket wrap work, how many days until cops find out?"

Staring.

"I left my job and house for this, so I maybe-sorta need help."

And finally, a large shrug.

"Never done that, I assume. Hey-wanna hear me talk about stupid shit and not be able to respond?"

He goes to do something, but I know what a cunt like myself will do.

"Great."

And so it went for a few days. But in truth, I really don't know how long I'll be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gang it's me  
> i feel like my guts were run over by a freight train while my jaw was taken off with a chainsaw  
> my life's falling apart but i might be getting back in therapy soon  
> i'm a thiccass toughass cookie to crumble and every time i drop a pencil i feel like i'm on the verge of tears constantly  
> i'm back in theater and reminded of how much i act in order to get through my every day life  
> i crave the sweet, sweet tender kiss of death but know it's far too fleeting  
> to spare you the details, i'm really sad and wrote all of this at once.  
> sorry kids


End file.
